


Let Food Be Thy Medicine

by Lilas (pegasus_01)



Series: Healing Food for the Soul [2]
Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Allusion to Rape, Gen, Kevin needs hug, Kimbay is a sweetheart, M/M, McKinley can't cook, brief mention/depiction of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 06:50:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4867193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pegasus_01/pseuds/Lilas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kevin and Connor head over to Kimbay's house to learn about traditional Ugandan recipes. </p><p>Please take heed of triggers: mention/brief depiction of suicide (minor OC character); allusion to rape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Food Be Thy Medicine

**Author's Note:**

> AN: This story directly follows my fic _Cooking from the Soul_. I highly recommend you read that one first so this one makes sense. I might make these fics into a series set in the same universe. If anyone has any requests for scenarios they’d like to see, please let me know!
> 
> This is not beta’ed. All mistakes are mine and mine alone. :)
> 
> Triggers: Mention/depiction of suicide (of minor OC character that happened in the past), allusion to rape (shoving a bible up someone’s butt the way it happened to Kevin is rape)
> 
> Pairing: McPriceley (slowly but surely getting more obvious)

Kimbay wasn’t really sure what had come over her when she had ordered Elder Price to come to her house today. It might have had something to do with the expression on his face when he’d come out of Mafala’s hut—or the lack thereof, really—or maybe it had been that familiar look in his eyes. It was the same expression she’d seen in her brother’s eyes after he’d come home one day, his pants ripped, his shirt missing, his chest a myriad of cuts and bruises, and his legs covered in blood, dust, and white spunk. She hadn’t needed Mafala’s warning look to tell her what had happened to the poor boy. She knew, she could tell. 

But she knew better than to bring it up. She’d learned her lesson the hard way. Her brother hadn’t wanted anyone to know what had happened to him. He hadn’t wanted anyone to look at him as if he were something broken, something that needed fixing. He had wanted things to go back to normal, to the way they had been before; but that had been impossible. She remembered the way he had jumped at shadows and trembled at the sound of the wind’s whispers. She remembered his violent outbursts followed by his howling sobs. She remembered his vacant expression and his violent flinches whenever someone tried to shake him out of it. 

She had been young then—young but hardly innocent—but she hadn’t really understood what had happened to him. She only knew that it had been something bad, something terrible, something that had shattered him into a million tiny pieces. She had tried to help him the best way she knew how: she asked him to play with her whenever he would come outside; she offered him part of her food rations because he had gotten so skinny; she would sing for him, the lullabies their mother used to sing to them before she’d gotten too weak and sick. Nothing had worked, nothing had made things better. 

In the end, she had found him in their washroom, covered in blood, a knife in one hand and a jagged cut in the other, so deep she could see the gleaming white of the bone in his forearm. She had stood at the door for a long time, staring at him, at the flies that had surrounded him, at the tear tracks on his cheeks and the blood tracks on his skin. She hadn’t cried, not then. It hadn’t been until she had found the village elder and he had had the men in the village help take her brother away and to the fields beyond the village that she had broken down and cried. It wasn’t until she was crouched in the washroom frantically trying to clean the brown puddle of blood from the ground that she had allowed herself to work out her grief. 

She had seen that look several times since that day her brother had come home. Over and over, she had witnessed it on boys and girls, men and women, the young and the elderly. Eventually she had come to recognize it for what it was—the gleaming shards of a broken soul—because no matter the person, no matter the time and place, it was indelibly the same look. 

It had been some time now since she had seen it though, not since she had moved to Kitguli. She had hoped, like a naïve babe, that she would never see it again. Despite the General terrorizing the town, despite the war, the famine, the AIDS epidemic, she had hoped (she had prayed) that she would never have to see her brother’s eyes in someone else’s face. And as the years had passed and the villagers had toiled, she had seen many expressions. She had seen grief as family members died, and despair as friends disappeared in the middle of the night. She had seen joy at the birth of a child, and love as two souls became one. 

And now she had seen Elder Price. 

Idly, she flipped another page from the boy’s cook book and stared blankly at the next recipe. She sighed and rubbed her fingers into her eyes. What had she been thinking, inviting the boy here? What did she expect to be able to do? Cook the trauma out of him? She didn’t know, she had no idea, but she couldn’t just leave him by himself with those other innocent boys. None of them knew how to deal with what had happened to Elder Price, and she’d bet her shanty that none of them, other than maybe Elder McKinley, knew what had happened to him. 

This was a silly idea, but one that she just couldn’t shake. As a child, she hadn’t been able to be there for her brother. That guilt, that helpless feeling that had consumed her once she had lost the only family she’d had left, it had eaten at her for years; and sometimes it would still catch her unawares. She couldn’t leave those boys to fend for themselves like the people in her village had left her. She wouldn’t let them make the same mistakes that she had made as a child. She knew better now, she knew more now, and maybe, just maybe, she could make a difference. This time, she hoped, there would be no broken body discarded in a washroom floor covered in blood and surrounded by flies. 

Kimbay blinked and brought the cook book back into focus. It was no wonder Elder Price had been so desperate to get this back. It held an amazing array of dishes, most of which she had never heard of—what the hell was a French toast or a beef wellington?—but that she would love to try. This cook book was clearly a prized and loved possession. Even though all the pages were in plastic protectors and categorized, they were worn down and creased, covered with sticky notes crammed with small, neat writing.

She smiled. She didn’t know Elder Price as well as Elder Cunningham, but any child that spent this much time learning from his mother could only be someone worth saving. A commotion outside her hut had her walking towards her door and wrenching it open before she’d even realized she’d gotten up from her chair. She smiled, bemused, at the redhead and the brunette glaring at each other as they stood a few feet from her home. 

“Oh come on, Kevin! Please?”

“No,” Elder Price snapped, arms crossed over his chest. Elder McKinley pouted. “Don’t even try that!” 

“Try what?” Elder McKinley asked, innocently batting his eyelashes.

“ _That! That right there_ ,” Elder Price very nearly screeched as he slapped at Elder McKinley’s arm. “Stop trying to be cute. It won’t work. I’m not letting you anywhere _near_ Kimbay’s kitchen.”

Kimbay frowned at that statement. Who did this boy think he was to try and dictate who could or could not cook in her kitchen? She had invited him into her home, and while she wasn’t surprised he had brought company—to the contrary, she would have been alarmed if he had come alone; she was pleased to see that Elder McKinley was aware enough of the situation to know that Elder Price shouldn’t be left alone—he had no right to forbid someone from coming into her kitchen. 

“You think I’m cute?” Elder McKinley asked, effectively derailing the argument and making Elder Price’s cheeks turn a bright shade of pink.

“Shut up, you’re not winning this. I’ve been dying to learn how to cook Ugandan dishes and you will not ruin this by—”

Kimbay coughed, loudly, effectively halting their bickering before it could escalate any further. Both boys snapped their heads toward her and smiled sheepishly at her expression. Without a word, she turned sideways to allow passage into her home and they both quickly walked past her and into the cool interior. She watched as they stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, both of them with their hands in their pockets and looking at everything but each other.

She took the time to observe Elder Price. He hadn’t changed much from the day before. He was paler than anyone had any right to be after having spent this much time in Uganda, but his hair was still perfect, and his clothes were still neat and pressed. Anyone looking at him probably would never guess what hid underneath his perfectly crafted shallow exterior. But Kimbay knew better. She saw the small tremors in his fingers, the sunken skin around his cheeks, and the dark bags under eyes that were so different yet so familiar. 

But she also saw something in those eyes that she had never seen before, something she couldn’t quite place—hope, trust, belief, _faith_ —it was something new that she hoped meant the beginning of the road to recovery.

“Sister Kimbay,” Elder Price said, head held high and voice borderline defiant. She looked at him blankly and she could tell he was faltering under her gaze. “Can… I would like my cook book back. Please,” he added after Elder McKinley gave him a short nudge in the ribs.

“No,” she replied, and she had to stop herself from cackling at his indignant expression. “You can’t cook holding that book in your hands.” She almost smiled as the boy’s face went from anger to excitement. “So first, let’s cook,” she said as she moved from the door to the kitchen.

“What are we cooking?” Elder Price asked as he followed her.

“We’re making a rolex.”

Elder Price’s face scrunched up in confusion. “A rolex? Isn’t that a really expensive watch?”

Kimbay burst out laughing. “Come, come. I will show you.”

Elder McKinley turned to her, eyes shining bright like a child in a candy store. “Can I—”

“No,” Elder Price said, interrupting Elder McKinley.

“But—”

“No,” Elder Price repeated, this time with finality, as he turned toward the redhead and glared at him.

Kimbay watched Elder McKinley pout and cross his arms over his chest, glaring right back at Elder Price. She raised an eyebrow at the scene before her. Clearly this was not a new argument, and _clearly_ Elder McKinley had never won this particular fight, which, from the little she had learned about the dynamic between the Elders, was admittedly unusual. From what she had gathered from both Elder Cunningham and Nabulungi, Elder McKinley’s word was the law in the mission house, by virtue of him being the District Leader. To see him yielding to Elder Price was… Bizarre. Regardless of what this fight was about, this as her home, and in it, _she_ was the law.

“What is going on?” she asked as she stopped on her way to the table where she had laid out the ingredients they would need.

“I want to help,” Elder McKinley said defiantly as he looked over at Elder Price.

“No,” Elder Price maintained, glare still firmly in place

“Kevin,” Elder McKinley whined.

“Connor!” Elder Price said, exasperated.

“Boys!” Kimbay interrupted, annoyed at their bickering. “Of course Elder McKinley can help,” she said. Elder McKinley cheered and Elder Price groaned.

“Sister Kimbay, you really don’t want to do that,” Elder Price pleaded. “You’ll regret it. Connor and cooking is like… It’s just… Please.”

Kimbay ignored him and walked to the small table by the stove and gestured for the boys to come join her. Elder Price lightly shoved Elder McKinley, who punched him in the arm in jest, and Kimbay couldn’t help but roll her eyes. She was relatively sure the two men didn’t even realize how blatantly they were flirting—truth be told, she was pretty sure they weren’t even doing it on purpose—but she was going to have to talk to Mafala about them. If someone outside the village were to catch them in the act, they would be one of the innumerable lost souls that disappeared in the night never to be seen again. 

“A rolex is a very popular street food. The first step is to make the chapati,” she explained. She arched an eyebrow when she noticed that Elder Price had pulled out a small leather-bound notebook from somewhere and had started writing things down. 

“What’s a chapati?” he asked, looking down at the ingredients on the table before scribbling in his notebook.

“It is like a flatbread,” she replied as she dumped the flour in a bowl. “First the flour, then you make a well in the dough and put in the sugar, salt, and oil.” She dumped the rest of the ingredients into the hole she had formed in the flour and then took a step back. “After that, you knead until it is soft, elastic, and smooth. Elder Price?” She gestured towards the bowl.

The Elder eagerly put down his book and was just about ready to plunge his hands into the dough when he stopped dead in his tracks. He looked up at her, a sheepish expression on his face. “I… I should probably wash my hands before doing this …”

Kimbay raised an eyebrow. These American boys and their germophobia. She had just opened her mouth to deride him when Elder McKinley pulled out a small, clear plastic bottle from his pocket and thumbed the top off. Kimbay winced and nearly sneezed from the strong smell of alcohol.

“No worries,” Elder McKinley said as he grabbed Elder Price’s hand and squirted a dollop of the clear liquid on it, and then on his own hand. “I got you covered, Kev.” 

“You’ve been holding out on me, McKinley! Where have you been stashing those?” Elder Price exclaimed as he reached for the little bottle that quickly disappeared back into Elder McKinley’s pants pocket. 

Elder Price made to reach into the pocket to retrieve the bottle but Elder McKinley batted his hands away. Forget having a talk with Mafala; Kimbay was going to have to have a talk with _them_ if they kept this up. She coughed loudly to get their attention and smirked as they froze in place, Elder McKinley’s hand firmly planted on Elder’s Price’s chest trying to push him away even as the other man tried to maneuver around the hand to get to the redhead’s pocket.

“Are you done?” she asked Elder Price pointedly. He blushed bright red from head to toe and nodded silently. “Good. Now get kneading.” 

Without another word the brunette reached into the bowl and started mixing the dough, pulling wads of sticky flour from his fingers as he pushed and pulled the dough into the side of the bowl until, several minutes later, it had formed into a supple white ball. Without waiting for instructions, Elder Price reached for the towel sitting by the bowl and covered it. Kimbay smiled; the boy really knew what he was doing. 

“Good. Now we wait for the dough to rise,” Kimbay instructed as she moved to the stove and turned on the burner beneath a pot.

“How long does that take?” Elder McKinley asked as he took a seat in one of the rickety chairs Kimbay had moved to the side.

“About ten to fifteen minutes,” Elder Price replied. “I’m going to go rinse out my hands,” he said as he waved his white, sticky, flour covered digits in the air. 

“You will have to go to the outhouse,” Kimbay replied, pointing toward the small structure a few yards from her house. She waited until she saw Elder Price walking from outside the window before turning back to Elder McKinley who was sneaking a peak at the dough. “Leave that or else we will have rock hard chapatis.” 

“Sorry!” Elder McKinley said, letting go of the towel as if he had been burned.

A comfortable silence fell between them as Kimbay tended the warming water. She watched the steam rise and just as small bubbles began to form on the bottom of the pan, she turned off the stove and sprinkled a generous amount of herbs into the hot water, watching as the it slowly changed into a deep amber color and the smell of earth and sunshine permeated the air around her. She looked over at Elder McKinley, who was gazing out her window toward the outhouse, a small frown on his face and his lips pressed down into a tight, worried line.

“Tell me, Elder McKinley,” she said as she scooped out the tea leaves and poured the aromatic water into three cups. “How is Elder Price?” 

Elder McKinley turned his frown toward her as he accepted the cup. “What do you mean? You were just with him.”

“Yes, and he is a very good actor,” she replied as she sat down next to him, and brought the cup to her nose and inhaled deeply. 

Elder McKinley stared at her, unmoving, but she could tell from the look on his face that his mind was racing, likely trying to figure out what she knew, how she knew it, and whether he should play dumb or tell her the truth. Much like Mafala would have taken Elder Price’s secret to the grave, neither would Elder McKinley dream of betraying his friend’s trust. But Kimbay could see from the hunch of his shoulders and the creases around his eyes how the knowledge of Elder Price’s secret was weighing him down. 

“I know, Elder McKinley,” she confessed, leaning toward him and watching him intently. He physically recoiled from her, blue eyes wide in betrayal. “Mafala did not tell me,” she said before he could open his mouth. “I knew as soon as he came out of Mafala’s hut yesterday. His eyes told me.”

“His… His eyes?” Elder McKinley inquired as he moved back toward her, hands coming around to hold his hot cup of tea.

She made a sound of agreement and took a small sip of her tea. “He had the same expression in his eyes as my brother after…” she trailed off, not quite sure how to finish her sentence; not quite sure if she _wanted_ to finish her sentence.

Elder McKinley pursed his lips and reached his hand to hers. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. There was a moment of silence between the two of them as Elder McKinley stared at their hands, pale white a sharp contrast against dark brown, while Kimbay looked out the window toward the outhouse and frowned. Elder Price should have been back by now.

“I… He’s not well,” Elder McKinley murmured, drawing Kimbay’s attention back to him. “Last night I stayed awake in bed, listening. At first, I didn’t hear anything and I thought… But then… It was very faint. I got up and opened the door to my room and listened closely. I could hear him talking in his sleep. I heard him whimpering and screaming, and then nothing.” He paused for a moment, brows furrowing. “It was like a cycle; he did that several times until about four in the morning. I guess that’s when he got tired of trying to sleep. His door creaked open and he sneaked out to the living room. He didn’t see me watching him. He curled up on the couch and cried. I…” His voice cracked and Kimbay watched, her heart breaking into a million pieces, as the boy in front of her tried to wipe the tears from his cheeks.

“Did you go to him?” she asked softly, squeezing his hand in support.

“How could I not? He was in so much pain,” he answered, sniffing quietly.

“Good,” Kimbay nodded in approval. “Let him know you are there for him.”

“I don’t… I’m not sure how much I’m helping him. I don’t even know what to do or what to say.” 

“The ‘what’ is less important, Elder McKinley. The most important thing is being there. You must make sure that he knows he can come to you, no matter what.” She reached toward him and tilted his face up so he would look at her. “You must make sure he knows he is not alone.” 

Connor nodded and wiped the tears from his cheeks. He looked at her solemnly and she knew what was coming before he even opened his mouth. “What happened with your brother?”

Kimbay closed her eyes in pain. Thankfully the sound of the door opening saved her from having to decide how and whether she was ready to answer that question. Elder Price paused at the doorway and she could only imagine the picture they painted: her hand holding Elder McKinley’s by the chin, the redhead’s cheeks smeared with fresh tears. 

“What’s going on?” he asked suspiciously, looking from Kimbay to Elder McKinley and back again.

“Nothing!” Elder McKinley replied, voice an octave too high, his cheeks stained red. He was a horrible liar.

“Did Connor get onion in his eyes again?” Elder Price accused the redhead, arms crossing over his chest.

“No!” Elder McKinley retorted, now clearly pouting. “There aren’t even any onions here!”

“Connor!” Elder Price turned to look at Kimbay with an air of fond exasperation. “I told you not to let him near the kitchen, Sister Kimbay. That man is a menace! The other day he nearly burnt down the mission house.”

“I did no such thing!” 

“Don’t lie, Connor. Lying is bad, remember?” Elder Price smirked. 

“Oh shut up,” Elder McKinley groused. “And besides, you’re exaggerating. I did not _nearly_ burn down the house.”

“Connor, the pan caught on fire!” Elder Price threw his arms up into the air. This was clearly an argument they had had before.

Kimbay blinked. “The pan caught fire? What pan?” She turned to look at Elder McKinley who now looked distinctly sheepish. “What happened,” she asked, narrowing her eyes. 

“Connor decided he wanted to make eggs,” Elder Price began explaining as he walked back toward them. “So he cracked about half a dozen eggs into the frying pan, but he forgot to oil it first. So the eggs burned. And when he realized his mistake, he tried to put the oil in but since the pan was hot, the oil jumped and landed on the fire. The flames jumped, the eggs caught on fire, and Connor nearly got his hand burnt off.”

Kimbay stared incredulously at Elder Price for another second before she turned to look at Elder McKinley who by now had slid down the chair, arms crossed and a glower firmly in place. “Is this true?” she asked.

“I only wanted to help. Kevin’s been making breakfast for everyone for days now. I wanted to give him a break,” Elder McKinley defended himself sullenly.

Kimbay snorted. “Well then,” she said, turning to look at Elder Price. “I must apologize for not listening to you early, Elder Price. Who knows what would have happened to my mud hut if I’d allowed him take a crack at making a rolex.”

Elder McKinley made a noise between a whine and snort and Elder Price nudged him gently. When Elder McKinley turned his face away from Elder Price, the brunette placed the tip of his fingers at the base of the redhead’s neck and let them slide up his skull, stopping halfway and slowly scratching Elder McKinley’s head. Kimbay watched as Elder McKinley arched his back and raised his shoulder at the motion, his sullen expression slowly melting away.

“Aw, come on, Connor. You know I’m only teasing.” A pause. “Well, sort of.”

“Urgh, I hate you,” Elder McKinley groused even as he leaned back into Elder Price’s hand.

“No you don’t,” Elder Price smiled.

Elder McKinley sighed, Kimbay coughed, and Elder Price’s hand fell away as if he’d been burned. Both boys were blushing and looking at opposites directions. _Definitely going to need to need to have that talk, sooner rather than later_ , she thought dejectedly. 

“Come, Elder Price. The chapati dough should be rested enough by now.” 

She pulled the towel away even as Elder Price grabbed a handful of flour from the bag nearby and threw some on the table. She grabbed the dough and put it on top of the flour and pulled out a fistful of it, shaping it into a ball and placing it in front of the brunette. She watched as he cast his eyes about the table and reached for the pin roller, immediately getting to work on flattening out the dough without even needing to be told to do so. This, more than anything, spoke to his experience in the kitchen.

“You only want it to be about the size of the plate,” she instructed as she pointed out the dinner plate. He nodded and after a couple of minutes turned to her for approval. “Good. Now finish rolling out the dough while I grab the rest of the ingredients.”

As she stepped towards the storage area, she heard the small sound of flesh hitting flesh and turned around just in time to see Elder McKinley snatch his hand back toward himself and hold it against his chest protectively even as he glared at Elder Price.

“Hey!”

“Stop it, Connor. You’ll ruin the dough.”

“That doesn’t look that hard to do. I could probably do it and not screw it up.”

Elder Price sighed. “How about you let me do this here first so I can learn, and then you can try it back at the mission house?” Elder Price compromised.

“Deal!”

Kimbay shook her head and grabbed the eggs, cabbage, onion, carrot, green pepper, and tomatoes before heading back to the table. She gently placed all the ingredients down and surveyed Elder Price’s work. With a nod, she turned around and lit the stove, placing a frying pan with some oil on top of it and letting it heat up.

“Now we cook the chapati,” she said as she grabbed the first flattened piece of raw dough and placed it in the pan, flipping it over after a minute and pressing down on it with her wooden spoon. “Just keep flipping it so it doesn’t burn, until it’s golden brown on both sides.” 

Elder Price nodded and watched as she slid the finished bread onto a plate. She stepped aside and let him take over for her, hovering next to him as he expertly flipped the dough every minute or so until it was done, grabbing the next disk to start the process anew. She inched a little closer to him and noted how he was so focused on his task that he didn’t tense up, didn’t even seem to register her presence next to him. She glanced over at Elder McKinley and raised an eyebrow. He shrugged and nodded. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a sudden movement and belatedly realized that Elder Price had finished making the chapati before she’d stepped back. She turned back to find that he had taken two steps back from her, the wood spatula raised in front of him like a weapon. 

“Next we make the filling,” she said, forgoing any comment and instead stepping back toward the table. “Crack a couple of eggs into the cup, and add some sliced cabbage, diced onion, pepper, and tomato, grated carrot and salt to it. And then cook it up.”

“We’re making an omelet?”

She shrugged. “It is the filling to the rolex. Of course, you can use anything you have in the house, but that is the traditional combination.”

“Could we add cheese to that?” Elder McKinley asked as he looked over Elder Price’s shoulder as the latter diced the vegetables.

“Where are you going to find cheap cheese around here?” Elder Price questioned as he dumped the vegetables in the cup and beat the mixture together with a fork before turning around and pouring it into the frying plan.

Elder McKinley shrugged, but Kimbay had to agree with Elder Price. She knew Elder McKinley and Elder Cunningham had somehow convinced the mission president to give the Elders a second chance at their mission in their village, but even so, it was unlikely the Elders were given a lot of money to live on. She knew Nabulungi was helping them plant a vegetable garden in the land by their home, but with all those mouths to feed, she couldn’t imagine anything lasted for very long.

“I just like cheese,” Elder McKinley replied, picking up the knife from the cutting board.

“Connor! Put that down right now!” Elder Price yelled as he turned around to deposit a plate with three omelets on the table by the chapatis.

“Oh, can we eat now? I’m getting hungry,” Elder McKinley whined.

“You are such a child sometimes. I have serious doubts about who’s worse: you or Arnold,” Elder Price grumbled as he took a seat and turned toward Kimbay. “Don’t let him near knives. The other day he nearly cut off Elder Thomas’s finger.”

“It was an _accident_!” Elder McKinley defended himself.

“It’s _always_ an accident with you. You are _disaster_ in the kitchen,” Elder Price replied.

“Well, Elder McKinley will be able to help with this next part while Elder Price slices some tomatoes,” Kimbay said, interrupting them before the argument could escalate. 

As Elder Price grabbed the knife Elder McKinley had been playing with and started to slice the tomato, Elder McKinley dragged his chair closer to the table and leaned forward, looking at Kimbay excitedly.

“All right! What do I do?” Elder McKinley asked.

“We need to assemble the rolex.” Kimbay reached for the chapati and placed it on the table, and then careful stacked one of the omelets on top. Then she took a few of the sliced tomatoes and placed them on top of the omelet. Once all the ingredients were lined up, she sprinkled some salt and chili and rolled it up like a cigar. “Just like that.”

Elder McKinley nodded and quickly assembled the other two rolex. Without waiting for them, Kimbay grabbed the one she had assembled and dug in, smiling behind her rolex as the two boys followed suit and hummed appreciatively. After a couple of bites, Elder Price reached back for his notebook and took up his scribbling once more, rolex held loosely in one hand and drooping pathetically. Elder McKinley nudged him every once in a while and the other man would take a bite of his food absentmindedly as he continued to write.

“What are you writing so much?” Kimbay asked, her curiosity finally getting the best of her.

Elder Price looked up at her blankly for a few seconds before he seemed to register the question. “Oh, it’s the recipe for the rolex so I can add it to my binder later. I want to be able to remake everything you teach me to cook once I’m back in the States.” 

“Not to mention then he’ll be able to cook the stuff at the mission house, too,” Elder McKinley mumbled as he chewed through another bite, a huge smile on his lips. 

“I am not your chef, Connor,” Elder Price groused as he went back to writing.

“Well, it’s not like any of you will let me near the kitchen. So, please, do pray tell me how I’m supposed to eat when I’m not allowed in the place where all the food is stored,” Elder McKinley challenged. “The way I see it, you love to cook, and I love to eat. And you wouldn’t let me starve, would you?” he asked, leaning toward Elder Price and batting his eyelashes innocently, who, for his part, leaned away disconcertingly.

“No…” he replied grumpily. “But that doesn’t mean I’m your own personal chef.”

“I never said that.” Elder Price looked at him skeptically. “I said you were the mission house’s chef.”

Elder Price scoffed. “Because that’s so much better.” He closed his notebook and took one last bite of his rolex before he got up and started gathering the dirty dishes. He paused once everything was piled on and looked around the room confused. He turned a sheepish gaze toward Kimbay “I… Where can I clean these for you?” 

She smiled at him. “I’ll take care of them.” She put up a hand when he was about to protest. “Don’t argue with your teacher, Elder. It’s disrespectful.” She laughed at his affronted expression. “You two better get going, or you’ll be late for your meeting with Mafala to talk about setting up that new irrigation system for the village.”

“O. M. Gosh, she’s right, Kevin. We better get going.” 

Elder Price nodded and put his notebook in his pocket before turning to look at Kimbay. And in that moment, she knew what she had to do; it was the least this boy deserved.

“Elder McKinley, why don’t you go on ahead?” she said, looking at him with a look she hoped conveyed what she dared not say aloud. “I want to talk to Elder Price about something.”

Elder McKinley licked his lips nervously, looking from her to Elder Price before nodding slowly. “I’ll just be right outside. Holler if you need me, okay, Kevin?”

“Sure,” Elder Price replied, his eyes never leaving Kimbay clearly nervous.

She waited until Elder McKinley had closed the door behind him and took a seat back at the table. She gestured for the other boy to do the same and, reluctantly, he took the seat opposite from her. His back was rigid as he sat across from her, and she could tell his hands were shaking where they rested on his lap. Cold sweat had broken out across his brow and she watched silently as he licked his lips nervously.

“How…” he started but stopped. He swallowed several times before he looked away from her.

She waited a few seconds to see if he would continue, and when he kept his gaze averted and his lips pressed tightly together, she sighed. Slowly, so as not to startle him, she placed her hands on the kitchen table, palms flat on the chipped wood, and forced herself to look at him.

“When I was younger, I had a brother. We lived in a different village then, just the two of us.” She took another breath and saw him glance up at her briefly. “One day, he came home late at night with the same expression you had in your eyes when you stood outside Mafala’s hut yesterday.” She saw him flinch and she ached to reach out to him. “I couldn’t help my brother at the time. I was too young; I didn’t understand things back then.”

She waited, looking at him and seeing the struggle of his thoughts playing out in the way his shoulders trembled, his lips puckered, his brows furrowed. She forced herself to not reach out toward him and slip her hands in his hair to slick it back and away from his forehead. She remained as still as possible even though every cell in her body screamed at her to comfort this boy who reminded her so much of all she had lost.

“What… What happened to him?” Elder Price asked softly, looking up with anguished brown eyes to stare at her.

She smiled sadly. She had been unable to answer this very question when Elder McKinley had asked her not too long before, but now she found she had no such reservation. “He killed himself.” She saw him flinch at her words. “I found him several weeks later in our washroom, covered in blood.” Elder Price seemed as if he had stopped breathing. 

Kimbay couldn’t do it anymore. Silently, she stood up and moved to crouch before the boy. Slowly, deliberately, she placed her hands on top of his clenched fists. She felt him flinch violently but kept her hands loosely on top of his, looking at them for a moment, pale white against dark brown, a feeling of deja-vu coming over her. 

“Mafala did not need to tell me, Elder Price. I knew as soon as I saw you. Not the details. And I do not need to know them, unless you wish to speak about it.” He shook his head violently at that. “You deserved to know that I knew. I wanted you to know that you have someone else in this village that will support you and help you.” 

“Thank…” Elder Price swallowed, brown eyes boring into her. “Thank you, Kimbay.”

She squeezed his hand once before quickly letting go and stepping back to give him some space. “If you ever need anything, Elder Price, my door is always open.” She smirked. “Literally.”

He let out a small laugh at that and nodded, looking back down at his pale hands. “You… You can call me Kevin, you know. If—If you want to, of course.”

She smiled at him. “I would like that very much, thank you. Though, it will take some getting used to.”

A comfortable silence seemed to fall between then as Kevin stared down at his hands and Kimbay looked at him. She freely admitted that she had not much liked Elder Price that first day when he had arrived with Elder Cunningham. He had been just another white, American boy who had complained of his luggage getting stolen, like that was the end of the world when all around him her village was sick and dying. But in the few short weeks he had been here, he had changed; life had forced him to change.

A small knock on the sturdy wooden frame snapped them out of their reverie and they looked up to see Elder McKinley sticking his head through the open door. He looked a little sheepish at interrupting them, but his blue eyes reflected an endless pool of worry as they lingered on Elder Price.

“Everything okay?” he asked, looking between Elder Price and Kimbay.

“Yes,” Kimbay smiled. She reached out her hand to Kevin and let it hover before him as he stared at it. Slowly, hesitantly like a child learning how to crawl, he reached out and clasped his hand in hers, letting her pull him up. “Everything is all right.”


End file.
